


Safe and Sound

by Raynbowz



Series: Adora series [4]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-09 00:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raynbowz/pseuds/Raynbowz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adora and the Doctor spend some quality time securing her home. When opportunity knocks for Adora, who or what is on the other side of the door? Fourth story in the Adora series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to CertifiedGeek and D for betas and general questions answered (sometimes ten times a day!) You are appreciated!

Safe And Sound  
A Doctor Who Story

1—The Task

“Father,” Thalmidor said at the breakfast table, “We forgot about something . . . the IABC—'Intergalactic Awesome Baker Challenge'—starts in two days. I have to get to Oluilli right away so I can set up for the competition. We were all busy with the wedding and the trouble with the Valeyard, so I wasn't paying attention.”

The Doctor frowned. “I know this means a lot to you, Thalmidor, but I really don't feel comfortable leaving your mother like this.” He turned to Adora and said, “This business with the Valeyard showed me how vulnerable you are. It would be different if you had some sort of protection.”

Adora interrupted, “What kind of protection? I thought you didn't like weapons.”

“I'm not talking about weapons; weapons are a threat, not a protection. I mean a system that can get you help or to safety in case of an emergency like a Xaqua infestation, a fleet of Sontaran battle troops or a blizzard. I know you have a TARDIS, but you only have a bicycle as ground transportation so even something simple like a sprained ankle or, stars forbid, another intruder could be a problem. I don't feel good about it and I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier.”

“How could you have known? You've only been here to pick me up for Kenarn's wedding.”

“True,” the Doctor replied absently, wolfing down one of Thalmidor's fresh popberry muffins. “There's got to be some security options you can get for this place.”

Adora sighed. “I don't want a stupid robot that's going to overreact at the lightest storm, or an animal to train and feed and an umbrella house shield like the neighbor's would set me back so many credits I'd have to sell the house to pay for it.”

“Father,” Thalmidor suggested, “why don't you _make_ Mother a security system—something she can use to call for help if needed, but one that doesn't get in the way or cost a fortune. You can get parts out of the TARDIS or go into the city to buy stuff and I can still make Oluilli in time to register and get settled in. I'll be done in an Alphazod week, which should be plenty of time for you; just drop me off, pick me up and everyone's happy.”

“Brilliant!” the Doctor exclaimed, jumping up from the table. “The other plus is I'll be able to trust the system one hundred percent, where I might have doubts on a contractor's work. Let me see what I have in the TARDIS and I'll get to it. Thalmidor, give me a few hours to get some parts and other necessities and you can take the TARDIS to the competition on your own; it's time you had a solo flight anyway. She'll be good for you; she always liked you better than Kenarn for whatever reason.” He left the house quickly and headed for his ship. 

Adora looked over at her son. “You're not being sneaky again, are you?”

Thalmidor looked up innocently. “Sneaky?”

“You've given your father an excuse to be here alone with me for at least a week . . .”

“An Alphazod week, Mother,” Thalmidor broke in, “that's eighteen days here.” 

“. . . While you sneak off to some type of baking competition. This isn't another of those 'Let's get Father and Mother back together' schemes, is it?” 

Thalmidor shrugged. “It isn't, but if it works . . .”

“Thalmidor, your father and I are as 'back together' as we are ever going to be. That we've come this far after how things were on Gallifrey is amazing. We respect each other now, love each other even, but we are too different to spend long stretches of time together. The longest we could stand it was barely two years and that was with your father compromising most of who he naturally was. I felt so bad for him I took his children away to keep him from losing himself entirely. I can't live his life and I won't force him to live mine and that's the end of it.”

“But he would, Mother. He'd stay here as long as you'd have him and never complain.”

“And he would slowly die inside, not to mention how much evil would be running rampant throughout the Universe. Your father's best as he is and so am I. Don't set your hopes on what can never be, Thalmidor,” Adora said firmly, before she deftly changed the subject. “Would you like another muffin?”

*****  
The Doctor finished hauling out the last box of sensor arrays and went into the house. “Is it going to rain in the next ten days?” he asked, popping his head into the kitchen.

Adora and Thalmidor were cleaning up in the kitchen. Drying off her hands, Adora said, “Let me check the weather upload; it's in the living room. Just give me a minute.”

“Don't let me disturb you; I can find it,” the Doctor replied with a smile. 

He went in the living room and checked the environmental screen on the near wall. He saw that there was rain scheduled soon and groaned. He would have to do something so the tools and parts didn't get wet as they wouldn't fit in the house.

“Thalmidor?” he called, “We're going to have to set up a pavilion; there's rain coming before long and it'll ruin all the parts if I leave them out unprotected. The sooner we get that done the sooner you can leave.”

“Coming, Father,” Thalmidor replied. 

The two went into the TARDIS and grabbed one of the large canopies to cover the equipment. When they came out Adora was waiting and they all worked together to get the structure up and secured properly so no winds would knock it over. 

Once the canopy was up it was time for Thalmidor to leave. “Wish me luck—the competition was fierce last year and I only came in eighth. I'm really hoping to crack the top five this time around.”

“Best of luck,” Adora told him as he kissed her on the cheek. “I hope you have a good time, no matter how you place.”

“You'll be brilliant, Thalmidor; you always are.” The Doctor shook Thalmidor's hand and reminded him, “Now, remember not to stress the magnetron acceleration unit; we really need a new one but we'll have to make do for now, and watch the temporal gyroscope; it froze up on me when we had that bad landing on Mycov Seven, so be careful . . . have a wonderful time!”

The door closed, and slowly the TARDIS disappeared.

*****  
The Doctor rubbed his hands together. “Well, I've got my work cut out for me, but I'm sure with your help it won't take as long. Now, what's the house made of?”

“It's three-inch thick tri-steel, with a Klinob faux wood glaze both inside and outside. The outside glaze is only cosmetic, but the inner layer is four inches thick for insulation and so I can put things up on the walls.”

“Central heating and cooling?” the Doctor questioned.

“There's central heating but no cooling system; back when this house was built this was a cold-weather zone year-round. I use electric fans mostly, or cold showers.”

The Doctor tried not to think of Adora cool, naked and wet, but failed. His ears were turning red, he was sure of it. “Well,” he said hurriedly, “how about access to your TARDIS? Could you get to it in an emergency?”

“It's in the attic,” Adora told him, “which was part of an addition after the house was built. Someone thought the house needed a second floor and an attic, but it's pretty awkward to get up there; it would take me three minutes to get to the hatch, pull down the stairs and climb up.”

“Not fast enough,” the Doctor decided. “I'm going to set up a transmat pad that can get you up there quickly. It'll have a perception filter so no one else can see it.”

“Where would you put it?” Adora inquired.

“How about the far corner of the kitchen next to the grandfather clock?” the Doctor suggested. “You only need a little space.”

“Now, how would you want to disarm the system when it goes off? A panel by the environmental screen?”

“Shouldn't it be here by the transmat pad, so if it's a real emergency I can get out quickly?”

“Of course! But how do we keep it hidden?”

Adora considered, then said, “You could put up a fake thermostat in here since the room doesn't have one. You could put the switch and controls right there and no one would think twice.”

“You're brilliant, Adora! What about the fact that the thermostat controls will be high up?”

“They won't be, you'll actually have to set it lower than your height. The person who originally built the house was in a motorized wheelchair, so everything's at a fine level for me. That's one of the reasons I bought the house, that and the fireplace. You didn't notice the environmental screen was lower than usual?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Actually, I hadn't.” He had been too busy thinking about the weather concern, that and the prospect of spending some extra time with Adora. “There's no Entertainment Grid set up, that I _did_ notice.”

“It was the first thing I ditched when I bought the place. I don't think I've had a regeneration yet that could stand television or any facsimile thereof. I'm surprised you watch it.”

“I don't really, it's my companions that want it. I do have a small collection of films.”

“I'm just not interested. If I want entertainment, I get a book from my auto-library subscription. I have whole galaxies worth of choice, and that's just the planet selections themselves. It's a little expensive, but it's one of my only luxuries.”

“That reminds me—when I met the boys, you told me you were writing romance novels. How's that been going for you? Are you a household name yet?”

“Hardly,” Adora laughed. “There isn't a big market for romance novels these days, but I do well enough; I try to write a book about once every three years. And even if I were to become famous if you're a writer you don't necessarily have people banging down your door for autographs. You get a little anonymity because people can't tell who you are unless you put your picture on the face-work. Given how much I value my privacy, I'd be an idiot to do it.”

“What is 'face-work'? Never heard the term . . .”

“It's a term for an auto-book's cover.”

The Doctor smiled. “And where are you in the rotation?”

“I'm just getting my first payments for this latest one called 'No Time for Tears'. It's about a mail-order bride who has to get used to living on a first-generation colony world with her new husband, the governor of the colony. It's the third in a series and it's selling well so far, or so my agent and bank account tell me.”

“'Mail-order'? I didn't know you were writing ancient historical romance . . .”

“I'm not, the term and practice never changed, that's all. There will be plenty of starships and up-to-date technology, never fear.”

“I'll have to read it while I'm here, if I get the chance,” the Doctor declared. “Right now I have to get to work. You'll help me?”

“As much as I can; I'm not technology-savvy.”

“I'm sure you'll do well,” he encouraged. 

They started with the transmat pad in the kitchen then went up to the attic to set up the link to the pad. The Doctor looked around the empty space and commented, “There's nothing up here but your TARDIS, I suggest you get a few pieces of old furniture just to give it a little cover. I do like what you've done with it, though; I never thought of a mirror.”

“You've never thought of anything but your 'I don't belong here at all, come investigate or carry me away' blue box. I'm sure all your enemies that you've come across more than once get all excited when they see it.”

“I had the Chameleon Circuit fixed in my sixth incarnation,” the Doctor argued. “I ended up with things like a pipe organ and then it stopped working again. I think she'd got used to her outside appearance and didn't want me fiddling with it.”

“Your magnetron acceleration unit is dying, you said?”

The Doctor nodded gloomily. “It's one of the oldest and most necessary parts of the TARDIS and unfortunately I can't do any more patches or overhauls, it's just in too bad of shape. I hope I can find a new one before it dies or I'll be staying here whether you like it or not.”

“I have an arrangement with my agent which might help you out,” Adora volunteered. “I pay him five percent more than other agents get and in return he does me favors I can't do on my own. He's one of those people who knows _everyone_ , so he points me to someone who can help me with whatever I need. Last season he gave me the name of a naturalist when my popberry bushes started dying off; saved them just in time, too. I'm sure he could find someone who either has or could get a magnetron acceleration unit. You build me a security system and I'll buy you the parts you need.”

“You don't have to pay me, Adora!” the Doctor protested.

“It's not paying; it's barter and you should get something in exchange for all this work.”

“I don't . . . there's no . . .”

Adora gave him a look, and the Doctor caved. “Thank you.”

Adora smiled. “You finish your work on this and I can give him a call.”

*****  
Four days later Adora and the Doctor went into the city to find the place Adora's agent recommended as the surest way to get a magnetron acceleration unit. The Doctor had asked about using her TARDIS, but Adora was adamant. 

“I already ordered a ground car and there's no need to go to all that trouble. Besides, it'll probably get jealous when it reads your thoughts about your vehicle and then I'll never get it to work properly again.”

A huge, top-of-the-line luxury ground car arrived with the rain mid-morning along with an auto-driver. They got in back and it told them, “A smaller vehicle was unavailable; you will not be charged for the upgrade. Destination?”

“We'd like to go to Jorbithoth Street in Lapiz City, stay for an undetermined amount of time and then return here,” Adora announced, closing her umbrella.

The robot intoned, “Overnight stays are an extra two hundred credits per night, which will be added to the original day fee. Passengers pay all tolls and fueling charges. Acknowledge?”

“That's fine,” Adora said.

The car started up and Adora sat watching the scenery go by. She rarely rode in a car; she tried to avoid going to the city unless she really needed to and used her bicycle whenever she could. The Doctor was uncharacteristically quiet. He just leant back into the seat with his eyes closed and stroked her hand. It really unsettled her until finally she asked, “Nothing to say?”

“Just enjoying the rain and the ride; it's been a bit since I rode in a car. The last time I was in one was with you, and before that it must have been at least a hundred years ago.” 

Adora was curious. “Didn't you once own a car?”

“Hmm?” the Doctor opened his eyes. “Oh, yes—Bessie! I don't even know where she is now, or what I did with her. Too long ago, for certain.” He smiled at her and said, “Some things just get lost over time, and some get lost and then you find them again.”

He squeezed her hand, then closed his eyes again.


	2. Chapter 2

2—Paint the Town Blue

Jorbithoth Street was more narrow than the grand limousine so at the corner of the alley Adora and the Doctor got out. Adora gave the auto-driver instructions to wait for them at Redgate Square since it was close to their current location and so she could show the Doctor the massive floating waterfalls. The square also boasted the last Alvastra Fire Ferns in that galaxy.

The robot driver asked, “What color do you wish the vehicle to be upon your return so you can identify it?”

There was really only one answer to that. “Cobalt blue, please.”

As the car drove off they started walking down the street, the Doctor holding the umbrella. Despite the chilly, wet conditions the markets here were teeming with people though it was also in the middle of a workday. A basket-weaver presented his offerings with pride, and bakers and butchers called out their prices and selections as the crowds hurried past. They went by a Nerve-Ana massage parlor, a tiny florist shop and a bustling fondue restaurant. Adora listened to the trade languages, trying to identify some of the speech and held onto the Doctor partly so he didn't get sidetracked but mostly so she didn't lose the shelter of the umbrella. 

At last they found themselves in front of a rust and purple awning with a sign on the front of the building that read, “Mikros Hardware and Space Parts. Haggling, Barter and Trade Highly Encouraged, No Borrowing or Credit.” 

The Doctor clutched at Adora's arm, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “'Mikros Hardware and Space Parts'! I've _always_ wanted to come here; they have the best ship parts selection in seven hundred and fifty-nine galaxies and Mikros is willing to take almost anything in payment. He did a favor for some Time Lord or other ages ago and the Time Lord gave him the interior of a TARDIS in trade. It doesn't have a console or the ability to move, but it's basically one massive stadium of parts. I can't believe I'm actually here—a dream come true!”

“And we're going to be here a _long_ time, aren't we?”

The Doctor didn't answer; he was frantically searching through his pockets. “Where, oh where did I put it? I had it just the other day and it's perfect for trade.”

“What did you lose?” Adora asked impatiently.

The Doctor was still pawing through his pockets. “There!” he said triumphantly, pulling out a glowing, opalescent, multifaceted jewel the size and shape of half an orange. “I knew I still had it.”

“Is that . . . you really have . . . that's the Wycumvest Nova Star, one of the most famous gems in the whole nebula! How did you get it?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Now _there's_ a story, but not one for now. I meant to give it to you as a gift but then I got busy and didn't stop by when I should have . . . you can hold it if you want.” 

Adora held out her hands and cradled the stone for a bit, then gave it back to the Doctor carefully. “It's stunning. What will you trade it for, just the one TARDIS part?”

“I have some things in mind if I can find them. Meet you back here in three hours? There's a famous bookshop around the corner, two square miles' worth of merchandise. They give out maps and transmats back to the cashier desk.”

“I've been there often,” Adora told him, “mostly for book signings; the owner knows me and we have a good working relationship. But wait—I thought _I_ was going to pay for the parts!”

“Do you have anything special like this to trade? Using plain credits will eat you alive, whereas a one-of-a-kind like this . . . Besides, I love to haggle for parts; I'd like nothing better than to get a steal out of this beauty.” The Doctor's eyes were dancing.

Adora smiled fondly at him. “Your loss. I'll meet you here in three hours, but if you're later than twenty minutes I'm coming in and dragging you out, done or not.”

The Doctor grinned. “I'll do my best!” he told her. He handed her the umbrella then dove into the building.

Adora went a little way down the street to The Page-Turner, heading for the cashier's desk. Simulon, the owner, was just finishing up with a customer but gave Adora a polite nod. He was a shark in a cyborg seawater suit, but still somehow managed to be handsome in his own way. As soon as the first customer left he held out a fin to Adora and said in his metallic translator voice, “Good to see you again, Adora. Your agent was just talking to me about a book-signing he wanted to arrange for your new novel; have you spoken to him about it?”

“I know he wants one,” Adora replied, “but we don't have any dates or plans as of yet; the ink's barely dry on 'No Time for Tears' . . .”

Simulon told her, “We've had brisk sales since it came on the scene, even sold out a few times. It's also generated sales for the first two novels in the trilogy. Are you planning on continuing the 'Mail-order Bride' series? It's been a go-getter so far . . .”

“I haven't decided yet,” Adora replied. “One project I've had on the back-burner for a while now is 'Love on the Ladris', a story set on a pleasure-liner bound for Najawertenfarr with various people sailing into romance.”

“Classy, classy,” Simulon mused. “You know if you do go that route you'll have to take a cruise yourself . . . strictly for research, of course.”

Adora smiled at him. Simulon was always insisting that she needed a vacation and gave suggestions whenever he got a chance; it was a harmless game between the two of them. Loftily she replied, “That's what travel reviews are for; look up the trip and get people's opinions and experiences without leaving the privacy of your home, just as good as if you went yourself. Besides, I just had a trip to 90th century Earth for a wedding; I don't need to leave my house again for another decade.”

“Who got married, if you don't mind my asking . . .”

“It was one of my boys actually; Kenarn is settling down with a wonderful, young ice hockey player. She's gorgeous and they're very much in love,” Adora responded with a bright smile, thinking of the happy couple.

Simulon spread his fins wide. “Well, we must celebrate such good news! Anything in stock is half-price, any type—that includes the hard-backs.”

“Oh, Simulon, that's so kind.” Adora told him. “I'm actually looking for something specific to buy and I need your help.”

“A challenge!” Simulon chortled. “You know I love those, Adora. Pick your poison.”

“I want some sort of book related to or written for a Time Lord,” Adora announced.

Simulon thought for a bit, then told her, “I have just the thing, I think . . . it's not an auto-book, so it's in the stacks and you'll have to go get it, I'm afraid—I'm by myself today.”

Simulon typed in some information on the automatic card catalog and handed her a square device which fit in her palm. “This is a glow-box When you get close, this will start pulsing a faint chartreuse. When it's bright you've found the right shelf, and when it's steady you have the right book. Just let me give you a transmat button.”

He looped a necklace over her head which was a mauve button. “Press this and you're back here. Now, to start you off . . . you need to go fifty-four rows straight back. Then hang a left and go sixty-seven rows and take a right. The glow-box will take you from there. There are levitators for getting up to the higher shelves. Have a good time exploring.”

“How will I know if I have the right book?” Adora protested. “You didn't give me a title . . .”

The shark grinned, showing all his razor-sharp teeth. “You'll know right away; it's the only thing like it in any of the stacks. If it won't help I'll give you credit until your next visit, but I think you'll be pleased with it when you find it.”

Adora was puzzled, but set out on her journey.

The lighting was dim as she got further and further from the entrance and the smell of paper and other materials grew stronger as she delved deeper. Here and there she heard rustlings of other customers thumbing through selections or using the levitators to get to higher levels of books. She got to the place Simulon had told her to start and looked at the glow-box, which was blinking faintly. She moved forward a row, and was dismayed to see the light almost go out. She retraced her steps and turned to the right. This time the glow-box light stayed on.  
She wove her way through the shelves looking for her prize. At last she got to the Mechanics section and stopped. Was she in the right place? Had Simulon been wrong? She had expected books on politics, history, maybe even literature or poetry, but not this. Still, the glow-box was flashing, so she kept going. She got on one of the levitators, which was like a window-washer's platform on a tall building and traveled high into the stacks. Finally the glow-box stopped pulsing and shone a steady neon green beside a heavy, wide tome of knowledge She had to pull hard to wrench the book out of its space on the shelves and then dusted off the cover. She almost whooped with joy, but managed to contain herself. Holding the book to her chest she pressed the mauve button and re-appeared at the cashier's desk. 

“Simulon, it's perfect!” she breathed. “Wherever did you find it?”

“Actually, I didn't,” Simulon told her, “Mikros did. He'd had it on display for absolutely ages and no one ever asked about it so he gave it to me with the understanding he'd get ten percent of the cut when it sold. He'll be happy to know someone's getting use out of it.”

“Oh, it will get used, I promise,” Adora replied joyfully. “How much?”

Simulon started crunching numbers and muttering to himself. Finally he told her, “Eleven thousand credits. It's a bit steep, but . . .”

“I don't care,” Adora said with a recklessness she rarely displayed. “I absolutely _must_ have it; it's a gift for someone special.”

“Of course!” Simulon agreed. “Let's just get the retinal scan out of the way . . . there you go, all done and paid for.” She watched as the shark wrapped her purchase with great care. “Here's to the happy receiver.” He slid the book over to Adora.

Adora smiled widely. “Thank you ever so much, Simulon; you have no idea how much this means. I'll get with my agent to talk dates soon!”  
Adora rushed out of the store quite forgetting about the rain. She hurriedly opened the umbrella and went back up the street toward Mikros Hardware and Space Parts. She glanced at her watch and found it had been more than four hours since she had gone into the bookstore. She looked around but saw no sign of the Doctor, so she marched in and said to the creature behind the counter, “I'm here to collect my husband; have you seen him?” 

The creature, a tarantula the size of a small pony asked through a translator, “Which one would your husband be? Does he look like you?”

“Yes,” Adora responded, “Tall, thin, brown hair, but the same color skin and placement of features and appendages. Please tell me he's still here . . .”

“Still here? It'll take a Yilpdudon space crane to drag _him_ out! He's deep in it with Dad over that silly gem; I don't see why people would put such value on a small hunk of rock.”

“It's a _pretty_ hunk of rock,” Adora explained. Can I go back there and look for them?”

“I'm afraid not, begging your pardon,” the spider told her. “If you think The Page-Turner down the street is a maze, you can only imagine this place. We won't let anyone back there without a guide any more; some people were getting lost for days and Dad just couldn't afford the insurance payments after a while. I can use the intercom and let him know he's wanted . . . what is your species, sir-or-madam?”

“I'm a female Gallifreyan.”

“Right. Just a moment, ma'am.”

The spider pushed a button behind the counter and what looked to be a blue microphone popped out. It leaned into the microphone and called out, “Dad? Dad? A Gallifreyan lady out here wants her husband back, the guy with the gem.”

“How long ago did they leave?” Adora wanted to know.

“They've been gone at least three hours; Dad didn't want him flashing the gem around so he took him in the back and they must still be dealing. Don't worry, it's almost dinner time; Dad'll wrap this up quickly so we can eat. Uonexis crickets tonight; I've been waiting all week. _Dad!_  
”  
The Doctor appeared, a huge, sturdy bag in one hand and a green ticket in the other. A larger spider was just telling him, “Remember, the in-store coupon is only good within the next two centuries; I can't drag these things out like I used to. And the extras are all arranged; just give them your name at your stops and you'll get right in. Pleasure doing business with you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Mikros,” the Doctor insisted. “I'll be back soon!”

The Doctor caught sight of Adora and picked her up, whirling her around a time or two. “It was brilliant, Adora, just brilliant! I got the magnetron acceleration unit I needed, a new balanced fusion inverter, a one thousand credit coupon and some extras just for us. Come on; you'll never guess what I've lined up . . .”

“Put me down!” Adora insisted, trying to be stern. “You'll drop your bag.”

The Doctor put down his bag instead of her. “This has been a wonderful afternoon, Adora, you can't imagine how much fun this has been! The magnetron acceleration unit is at least six hundred years newer than the one I have and with good care it should last for centuries and the balanced fusion inverter is practically brand-new—just over a thousand light-years on it. Now, we have to hurry; we've got stops to make.”

“Stops?” Adora questioned.

The Doctor picked up his bag, took the umbrella from her and rushed up the street, making her run to keep up. She saw that he had stopped in front of the Nerve-Ana massage parlor and she nudged him in the side. “Are we going in? Usually there's a waiting list a light-year long.”

The Doctor was bouncing again. “Mikros has connections, just like your agent chap; he's arranged a thirty-minute massage for both of us.”

Adora impulsively pulled the Doctor down to her level for a sweet kiss. “You're wonderful, you really are. You certainly know how to make a lady feel special . . .”

“That's not all,” the Doctor murmured, breaking the kiss. “We've got reservations at the fondue restaurant too; all the evening's specials.”  
“And I got you a gift,” Adora told him. “It's something you've needed all your lives but never had or even knew you wanted. It's perfect for you. Too bad you'll have to wait until we get back home.”

“I can't wait! Now for a little pampering for my Time Lady.”

The massage was as grand as Adora could have wished. Dinner was just as magnificent. Adora even put up with the local custom of couples feeding each other dessert. The two of them laughed, had excellent conversation and delighted in a “perfect” afternoon.

The rain stopped and the sun was setting beautifully when they got in the car and enjoyed the ride home. The Doctor stole a few kisses on their way back, and Adora let herself put aside her stately, aloof personality and truly live “in the moment”. It wasn't until they got back home that Adora's mind reconnected to her body. “We have to go upstairs,” she told the Doctor.

“What for?” the Doctor questioned. “There's plenty of room—”

“All the bedrooms on the first floor are taken and I refuse to do something like this in one of the boys' rooms.”

“There's something wrong with your room?”

Adora tried to explain. “It's all I have.”

“You don't have to justify it, Adora. It's your home, and we'll do this on your terms. Upstairs?”

Adora sighed in relief; he hadn't pushed for an explanation or become upset. They made their way to an unused guest room and thought of nothing but each other until morning.


	3. Chapter 3

3—The Offer

Adora and the Doctor lay in bed trading stories of the twins as the second sun rose, a white flame peeking through the curtains. The Doctor, keen to impress, got up first. 

“Breakfast in bed, Love?” he asked with a grin.

Adora looked at him disdainfully, but he knew it was all an act. “In my world, the only people who get breakfast in bed are mothers of small children who usually can't eat what's offered to them by tiny, grubby hands, the ill who can't eat much anyway, and the desperately lazy who don't deserve to eat in the first place.”

“Ah, high standards! Breakfast in the garden, then?”

“You know how to cook?” Adora asked doubtfully.

“Yes, well . . . I can, sort of . . . maybe.”

Adora sighed and sat up. “I think I'll manage breakfast on my own, thank you. I know you mean well, but you _always_ mean well and it doesn't stop things from happening. Oh, I almost forgot your present!”

“Tell you what—we'll make breakfast and then I'll see it at the table.”

“I can go one better; _you_ stay in the dining room while I do breakfast.”

The Doctor's smile dimmed, replaced with a pouting lip. “That's what Thalmidor always tells me.”

“Speaking of which, there's still some popberry muffins left from the batch he made.” Adora looked over to the Doctor, who was looking at her with his puppy-dog eyes and relented. “All right; you can squeeze the juice for me—white grapefruit or sour orange, your pick.” 

“Sour oranges? Never heard of those . . .”

The Doctor made it a point to not make a disaster out of Adora's kitchen as he squeezed the sour oranges into the pitcher, making sure no seeds got in the juice. It wasn't his fault that the knife slipped and cut open his palm, it really wasn't, but Adora kicked him out anyway after she used a dermal regenerator on his hand. He sat at the dining room table and waited for her as she brought out scrambled eggs, popberry muffins, sausage, tea, and the juice. Once they were finished she passed him a bag. “I can't wait to see your face!” she declared, her eyes alight.

The Doctor opened the bag, unwrapped the book and gasped, dropping it on the table. He scooped it up again and stared at the cover. “TARDIS Repair: Servicing Your Mechanical Marvel,” he read aloud. “Oh, Adora . . . what a gift! Thank you!”

Adora leaned over the table for a kiss. “Simulon at the bookstore had it, took me four hours to find but I knew it would be perfect. Now all you have to do is look it over, wait until Thalmidor gets back and you can get to work.”

The Doctor smiled and told her, “Actually, what I'm going to do is finish with your security system and _then_ take a look at this. Business before pleasure and all that.”

“But that's going to take you so long!” Adora protested.

“It'll be a good impetus to hurry along and not fret over every circuit. Trust me, Adora, I want to get this project done for you so we can both sleep better at night, but that doesn't mean I'll slave away every second. I can—”

The house communicator rang. Adora hurried to the environmental control panel in the living room with the Doctor right behind her and answered, “Hello?”

A sleazy-sounding baritone voice replied, “Adora-doll, this is Geptum. I know you have a house-guest and it's short notice, but something's come up and I really need you to say 'yes'; it's a fantastic opportunity.”

Adora mouthed to the Doctor, “ _My agent_ ”, then asked, “What sort of opportunity? Is it one of those weekend author parties I hate so much?”

“Now, Adora, just listen for a microsecond,” Geptum pleaded. “You've just finished another seller but this is your chance to get noticed by some of the big-leagues in the business, maybe pick up a new contract with one of the publishing giants, or even a film deal—Adora, this is big stuff! You can't afford to turn down something like this, not this time.”

“I have a guest, just as I told you the other day.”

“Is it one of the boys? Adora-doll, they're old enough to take care of themselves for a weekend and it's _just_ a weekend; I already made sure. Arrive Sixday afternoon, stay Sevensday, leave Eightsday after brunch. In and out, I swear.”

“Will you be there, or are you sending me alone to fend off the sharks and deal with immature, useless nobodies? Last time—”

“Last time was last time, Adora; I can stick to you like guad gum if that's what you want, or you can bring your guest with you, your choice. You're allowed a plus-one for this particular event and I'm already going to be there for some networking, so . . .” He paused long enough to create a facade of consideration, then continued, “You'll come?”

“You _know_ how much I loathe these get-togethers, Geptum . . .”

“You also know this is like signing all your royalty check vouchers or the sixth round of revising; it's part of the business, so you grit your teeth and suck it up and deal. How 'bout this, Adora—you come and I won't bother you about not having your picture on your face-work for a solid year. A whole year of peace, Adora-doll—all for one weekend.”

The Doctor spoke softly. “I can work on this while you're gone, Adora; you don't have to re-structure everything around my visit . . .”

“Who's that, Adora, your guest? Sounds like film star material to me . . .”

Adora sighed mightily, bored with her agent's badgering and responded, “It's my husband, Geptum, and he's only here for a little while, so—”

“Your husband?” Geptum gasped. “Adora, you won't need me to fend off any sharks if he goes with you; you've always told people you're attached and if you bring him along everyone will see him in the flesh and stay off your back for a long time. Please, Adora-doll—it's a career-making move if you'll come.”

Adora looked at the Doctor, who shrugged. Shaking her head in resignation she asked, “One weekend? No extra days for 'special deals'?”

“None. I made that clear when I got the offer.”

“A separate room this time?” Adora questioned, ignoring the Doctor's puzzled look.

“It's at Val Maxdon's estate,” Geptum told her. “She could give you a whole suite and not think twice, especially if you've got your husband along. You can even turn it into a special time with the mister, if you know what I mean . . . fire up your engines . . .”

Adora snapped sharply, “Watch your tone, Geptum, or I won't go at all!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Geptum backpedaled hastily. “No offense meant, it was just a joke; your private life is just that, Adora.”

Adora held her breath a moment, considered, then said quietly, “All right, Geptum—I'll go.”

“Excellent! I'll make all the arrangements myself; you won't have to worry about a thing except showing up. Bring the outline of 'Love on the Ladris' as well as the notes for the next 'Mail-order Bride' novel you're fleshing out and anything else you're seriously considering . . . oh, heck, bring it all, even the old stuff! You won't regret this Adora-doll, you really won't. I'll even send a ground-car to pick you up, on my tab. Seeya this weekend!”

The connection was broken, and the Doctor looked over to Adora. “I meant it, Adora; I don't mind staying here and out of your way.”

Adora crossed the room and took his hand. “I was thinking that if you came you might make the time bearable as opposed to the usual fighting off unwanted advances and endless hours of boring conversation. I ordinarily wouldn't go to one of these, but Geptum's right; I could really pull my career into the next level with a good showing here. You wouldn't mind, would you?”

“To be your escort at a weekend getaway? Not at all, Love. I just happened to bring the tuxedo; I was hoping to get it laundered while I was here . . . and I have two spare sets of other clothes as well. I should be covered, right?”

“You'll be fine,” Adora reassured him. “Sevensday night is the only formal dress part; the rest is pretty lenient as far as wardrobe is concerned. What I really need to focus on is brushing up the outlines for the novels I have plans for; I hope I'll have enough time to go over them properly.” 

“Well, don't let me stand in the way of creative genius; both of us have better things to do than chin-wagging at the moment.” The Doctor gave her a little push.

Adora kissed him, then went to her study to look over her work.

The Doctor worked steadily on the security system for many hours creating an invisible mesh grid of sensors for the outer doors and the storm cellar, tying them in to Adora's brain-wave patterns so the system wouldn't be set off by her presence. He added himself and the twins as well, knowing Adora wouldn't want the alarm going off if it was one of them. Then he thought of the Valeyard. If the Doctor was on the list of accepted life-forms the other Time Lord would be able to waltz right in. He changed the settings so that only his current self could enter without setting off the system then got to work on setting sensor grids on the first-floor windows. By the time he was done it was pitch-dark and his stomach was rumbling. He went into the kitchen and thought about his next move. There was no food immediately obvious; no fruit in the bowl or muffins on a plate. If he wanted something to eat he would either have to search or bother Adora and neither prospect seemed like a good idea. In the end he decided to fend for himself; he wouldn't get too elaborate and it was always better to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission, wasn't it? 

He opened the refrigeration unit, thinking how much better off Adora would be if she invested in a stasis box like he had on the TARDIS, and started looking for food. He found some Pennswith nut butter and various types of salad vegetables, but no bread. He looked in the freezer compartment, but still didn't see anything suitable. Finally he went scrounging through the cupboards and found some crackers. He got out a knife and spread some of the nut butter on the large crackers and ate one. Almost immediately he felt a burning in his middle. He dropped the knife on the counter, then threw open the refrigeration unit door searching for something to drink. He spied what looked like a small bottle of milk on the middle shelf and downed it, gasping. The liquid crackled in his throat a bit but took care of the searing pain in his stomach. He looked at the crackers with distaste and chucked the open ones in the garbage. He sighed, got out a bunch of spoons and ate some of the nut butter plain, making sure to use a clean spoon for each mouthful. After a bit he felt odd, as though all the bones in his body had melted. He slipped to the floor propping himself up on the cupboard behind him and sat there gazing up at the ceiling for a long time, not feeling pain or discomfort, just mellow and still.

After a while, he didn't even know how much time had passed, Adora came into the kitchen. Almost tripping over his sprawling form she cried out, “Doctor? Doctor, are you all right? What did you do to yourself?”

It was difficult, but the Doctor managed to form words. “I couldn't find any bread . . .”

“What does bread have to do with you lying on my kitchen floor?” Adora demanded. She looked on the counter-top and asked, “Did you try to eat the Pennswith nut butter on these crackers? They can't be eaten together; they cause an imbalance of the acid in your stomach”. 

Then noting the empty bottle next to the nut butter jar she understood immediately what had happened. “And then you drank all the Delbital, didn't you, thinking it was milk? It's only meant to be drunk in thimblefuls, not the whole bottle; no wonder you're down there. Delbital is a liqueur that has a muscle-relaxant property, at least for Time Lords; I have no idea what it would do to any other type of humanoid. I ought to just leave you there for not coming to get me when you got hungry . . .”

“I just wanted a sandwich . . .” the Doctor protested weakly.

“The bread is in the drawer marked 'Bread', which you obviously couldn't be bothered to read,” Adora said tartly. “I'm going to take pity on you this once but I want your solemn promise you will not enter this room of the house again without supervision, either my own or Thalmidor's.”

She stepped over him and got out a bottle of something that looked like tar and smelled like garbage. She got one of the spoons from the counter, measured out a dose of the nasty stuff and held it to his lips. “Open your mouth,” she told him sternly. “It'll taste nasty but you'll burn off the effects of the Delbital in a few seconds. Come on, Doctor . . . you brought this on yourself . . .”

The Doctor would have protested some more, but he knew she was right. The horrible something tasted like spoiled Kwempit Sauce, but once he swallowed it he was able to move his fingers and toes, then his limbs, and finally the rest of him in short order. He stood and mumbled, “Thank you. Can I get a sandwich now?”

Adora sighed and gave him a hug. “I'll make us something; you go check out your book for a while. Go on; at least you didn't leave a big mess.” 

The Doctor retreated to the living room and sat down with the book, looking at the three-dimensional holo-projections of the inner console layout. The book was aimed at those Time Lords that had a Type-60 model TARDIS but it had plenty of info on earlier models, including his Type-40. He thumbed through the console information and went to the Engine Room section, looking at the various systems and the troubleshooting guide. Adora called him for dinner and he stuck a popberry leaf in the book to mark his place and went to the dining room.

Dinner was a quiet meal; the Doctor was still embarrassed and Adora was far away. At last she said, “Tomorrow's Fivesday; we should have time to get your tuxedo washed and ready along with whatever else you need. I'll have to pick out something to wear for formal dress; I'm not sure I still fit in my black sheath and the hem on the forest green number is coming unraveled. If the boys were here they could fix it; they have a sewing machine.”

The Doctor asked her, “Do you have matching thread, scissors and a needle? If you do I can sew the hem myself.”

Adora was astonished and a little bit concerned given the knife incident earlier. “You can hand-sew?” she asked doubtfully.

“Oh, yes,” the Doctor nodded. “Jack taught me; he's a man of many skills. I can't do anything fancy, but I can put buttons on or repair your hem. Would the boys have the supplies?”

“There's a workroom upstairs for projects and hobbies they took on but never finished. If there's sewing supplies anywhere, they'd be in that room. After I'm done with the dishes we'll go up there and see what we can find and no, you can't help wash _or_ dry; you've done enough for one night.”

When the kitchen was clean Adora took the Doctor upstairs to the workroom and the spent some time looking for the sewing supplies. Once they found them the Doctor pronounced, “You go get the dress, Adora, and we'll see what we can do. What type of material is it, anyway?”

“Something from Earth,” Adora called from the other room, “I don't remember exactly. Velvet, I think . . . here we are! Yes, it's velvet.” She brought the dress into the workroom. It was a halter-top, sheath type gown in a deep forest green. There were little diamond accents in a criss-cross pattern at the empire waist, but otherwise the dress was understated and elegant. 

The Doctor took a look at the hem and said, “Yes, I can fix it. You get on with your tasks while I work on this; it shouldn't take more than a few hours. Can I work on it up here?”

“Whatever you want;” Adora told him. “It's more comfortable down there.”

The Doctor grinned. “More distractions as well! All I'll be thinking of while I work on this is getting you out of it in a few nights.”

Adora laughed. “We'll have plenty of time for that before we go; tomorrow's only Fivesday. Now I'm going to sleep.”

“I won't disturb you. I have to make sure you fit the part of dignified Time Lady.” He hesitated, watching her exit the room and said softly, “Adora?”

She paused at the threshold and turned to face him.

“Thank you, for everything. For this, for us . . . thank you.”

Adora simply smiled, then headed downstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

4—Roped In

The Doctor and Adora arrived at the Val Maxdon estate in the early afternoon on the appointed day. Adora would have gone later except for the Doctor pointing out it might be better to arrive early and get it over with rather than arrive late and have to stand in line. The thought of a bored Doctor rubbing elbows with the movers and shakers in her profession held no appeal, so she hurried them both to the party. 

They signed in and got their name badges that had their name and relative fame level in LED lights, then stood away from the table. They were not the first to arrive; several wet-behind-the-ears hopefuls scanned their name badges quickly, then slumped when they saw Adora and the Doctor were not bigwigs. Adora was a little surprised to find she had risen in the color scheme a little; she was now a slight bubble-gum pink instead of baby pink. She wondered if anyone would notice. 

“Why is my badge black and yours pink, Adora?” the Doctor asked her.

Adora stifled a sigh; of _course_ the Doctor would notice. “Black means you're not part of the writing business in any capacity. Anyone from white to the deepest crimson has some level of involvement they're getting paid for and the darker the color the more fame you have.”

“So, a famous painter like Michelangelo?”

“He gets black unless he's also writing something and getting paid for it. In fact, someone got offended last year because they were a famous model but got a black tag. Left in a huff after making a huge scene . . . the only reason I remember is one of the bodyguards stepped on my foot as they were escorting the diva out. Please promise you won't wander off too far, but don't _hover_.”

“I will do my best,” the Doctor told her. “What else am I supposed to do?”

Adora steeled herself and told him, “You usually get into trouble wherever you go but I really need you to be on your best behavior and not attract attention or make a scene. I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, really, and it's not always your fault, but . . .”

The Doctor kissed her on top of her head. “I promise I will make it my mission to not embarrass you at all this weekend, while still providing you with company,” he told her earnestly.

“Let's go up to our room and drop off our bags. We can also see if we got private quarters. Last time I came to an author's weekend I had to share a room with three newbies and they had an orgy. Geptum's lucky I agreed to give another one of these a try, and if it's a bad experience I'm not going again, no matter what he tries to bribe me with.”

The room was small, but definitely private. The room was labeled, 'Adora and Plus-One' and they needed a retinal scan to get in. They both got scanned and dropped off everything except Adora's writing bag, then went back to where guests were signing in. “Now what do we do?” the Doctor wanted to know.

Adora replied, “We wait for other people to arrive, saying hello to anyone we know, or if we're in the gregarious half of the population we strike up conversations with strangers about our work. I'm going to find a quiet corner where I can see this table but not get involved until I see the two or three friends I've made. They should be here; they have the same fame level as I do and their projects are interesting and show real promise. I met them in some workshops I attended at a writer's conference—a whole different animal from this scene. Writer's conferences have workshops and classes on how to improve your writing, where one of these parties is strictly networking.”

“Do you mind if I mingle? I won't do anything unseemly.”

“You can if you want, just glance over every once in a while to make sure I'm not hijacked.”

“I will.”

Adora waited a long time and was seriously considering getting a chair when she saw a familiar face. “Sedryn!” she called, “Sedryn, it's Adora! Glad you could make it.”

The short, purple-skinned humanoid with no hair and four arms dashed over to Adora and swept her up in a mighty hug. “Adora! So your agent got you to give in at last. I'm really glad you're here. And who's this coming toward us?”

Adora told her friend, “This is someone special. Sedryn, this is my husband, the Doctor, and Doctor, this is my friend Sedryn. Sedryn is hermaphroditic, but prefers . . .”

“I prefer 'tal' actually; it's the term we use on my planet.”

“Havizew!” the Doctor declared. “Just at the tip of the Mordean Stylus, am I right?”

Sedryn looked very surprised. “You've heard of it? I'm amazed; very few outsiders are familiar with Havizew . . . the place is so boring.”

“And are you a Metcol or a Mytcol?”

“A Metcol, but there's a huge push back home to merge the tribes into one nation. I'm not a Unity Freak like some, but I never did understand the ins and outs of the whole tribal system.” Sedryn shook its head. “I only _write_ political thrillers; I don't ever get involved in the real thing. Besides, I base my work on the movers and shakers of galaxies, not the petty whispers of discontent back home. So, you, Doctor . . . what do you write?”

“I don't even keep a diary,” the Doctor responded cheerfully. “Adora's the one with talent.”

“Oh, yes—now I see the badge. So you just came to keep Adora company?”

The Doctor smiled at Adora. “Best company I could be keeping,” he said simply.

Adora blushed a bright red, but neither Sedryn or the Doctor seemed to notice. They started talking about Sedryn's home planet as Adora searched through the crowd looking for another of her friends. 

After a few minutes Sedryn told Adora, “Don't bother looking for Bappis, she had to cancel at the last minute, fell down a flight of steps while doing her laundry and broke some bones in her left flipper. She'll be out of commission for at least three months, she said—they can't use a bone-knitter on those bones or they'll fuse them together.”

“That's such a shame,” Adora sighed, disappointed. She had been looking forward to seeing her friend who would give the Doctor a run for his money on energy level and speed of speech, but it was not meant to be. “Did you bring anyone with you, Sedryn?”

“Bring them?” Sedryn mock-gasped. “I only came so I could get away from them! Thirteen children are just too much at times. Good thing my husband and wife are natural-born parents; they have the gene-pattern to back it up, even. They'll take care of things all right. One day I'd like to take the two of them somewhere and have an 'adults only' vacation, but not until the older ones can handle the supervision of the others. And how about you, Adora—planning any additions to the family?” 

Adora blushed hard again. “Kenarn just got married, and it would be awkward to have a baby when the others are so grown.”

“Nonsense!” Sedryn told her. “Older children only mean more hands for nappy duty. In fact, it's currently in fashion on Havizew to have large gaps between children. I mean, what's ten or fifteen years?”

“Try over one hundred,” Adora replied.

Sedryn looked surprised, but just said, “The more children you have, the bigger your hearts grow, that's what our family's always said.”

Adora glanced over at the Doctor. To her surprise, he had a look on his face that showed he was trying to hide how he actually felt. She would have to ask him later, but she wondered what it meant. Was he against the idea, knowing he would miss the child's growing-up years? Did he long to have another baby, even though he wouldn't be able to stay with it? She wasn't sure.

Just then, a five-foot, gecko-like lizard with a tan underbelly, brown back and black-tipped tail sauntered over. 

“Adora-doll! I'm surprised you got here so early . . . and which one is the husband? Kinda hard to tell these days, so many inter-stellar relationships.”

“Hello, Geptum,” Adora said, letting him kiss her hand. “This is my husband, the Doctor and this is Sedryn; he writes intergalactic political intrigue.”

Geptum looked at Sedryn for a moment and then said, “'Diplomat's Dream' is the name of the series, 'Translating Terror' came out two years ago and you have Grid advertisement rights on your home-world.”

“You're right—how did you know?” Sedryn gasped.

“I'm an agent and I want to make my clients look good; of course I know. I have a dossier on every author here, from the littlest nobody to Reyapre her-selves. Did you find your room acceptable, Adora?” 

“It's fine, Geptum. Where are you staying?”

“A bunch of us Antillans got a huge suite together just to be mean to everyone else; we love it when people can't tell us apart,” Geptum sniggered.

“Antillan?” the Doctor questioned. “Oh, yes—shape-changers; always a step ahead at costume parties. This isn't a natural Renstigon form, though. Who are you trying to impress today?”

Geptum shrugged. “The backer paying for the weekend was very strict about me having a recognizable form to set me apart and to keep it at all times, so I chose a Lacronidian body; no one else will have one.”

Adora was confused. “Backer? I thought Val Maxdon was paying.”

“Private backer, not a writer, wants to keep his, her, or its name out of it; I'm not actually sure which one. Now, Adora, don't stand in corners all weekend or it'll be a waste for all of us. Make it a point to talk to at least five high-colored individuals before Eightsday; I can give you names and pertinent information on anyone you like. Nice to meet you, Doctor, Sedryn—enjoy the weekend. And Doctor, do try to get Adora to circulate.”

Geptum moved on. Sedryn put a hand on top of Adora's head and told her, “I'll see you later, Adora—I want to see where I'm staying."

“I'll catch up to you later, Sedryn,” Adora replied.

“Now I find that interesting,” the Doctor mused. “What type of non-writer would pay for a bunch of writers to have a weekend together? It doesn't add up.”

“It could be someone in the film industry,” Adora told him. “Directors and film stars are always looking for stories to turn into blockbusters; it wouldn't surprise me at all. Don't even start poking your nose into this, Doctor.”

“I'm sure you're right. Oh, look—they want us to go over this way.”

Adora looked over and followed after the Doctor. “Cocktails and hors d'oeuvres outdoors. It's a great way for everyone to get some food, get drunk, and/or make a deal. Grab what edibles you can; they don't always feed you well at events like these. The food's all meant to be pretty and in style rather than filling; apparently the rich and famous aren't allowed to eat much.”

“So we eat like pigs when we get the chance, won't get drunk—”

“Don't be so sure,” Adora interrupted. “There's a lot of drinks out there that pack a punch even to a Time Lord; they _are_ catering to dozens and dozens of different life-forms. Just be careful what you get.”

“So, we eat like pigs when there's food, drink harmless beverages and stand around doing nothing else?”

“I'm supposed to be looking for some bigwigs and getting into conversations with them, but I never know what to say. It was a lot easier on Gallifrey—everyone practically knew everyone else's DNA and we were only jockeying for position.”

“Well, view it like that then,” the Doctor told her. “Don't think of them as people or even resources. Think of them as pawns to be moved into positions where you want them. It's just a different arena, is all.”

Adora thought about it, and lifted her chin. “I think I'll try the group over there, the one where some are sitting and some standing. Wish me luck!”

“You don't need any,” the Doctor reassured her. “Now go get yourself a seat on the High Council, or the post of Chancellor, Madam President, even!”

Adora smiled, centered herself and walked over to the group of six or seven people, not bothering to look at badges; the rank wasn't as important as the contact, at least at this stage. The people seemed to be discussing the merits of auto-books over the old paperback or hardback type. The one woman in a hoverchair, oddly shaped with two faces and an oversized skull attached to a withered body was just saying, “Paper books are relics of a long-forgotten age; we say leave them there.”

“Not all books are made of paper; there are trillions of other substances . . .” a cat/man with perked ears and long sharpened claws said, tail twitching.

The woman dismissed him with a wave of one languid hand. “You know what we mean, Oshtin. Physical books need to go the way of the telegraph machine, or the pencil. Ancient, we tell you, simply ancient. The world of literature needs to stop grasping onto the shreds of its past and come into the modern age.”

Adora waited a moment to see if anyone else would speak, then responded, “But there's something about the feel of a book in your hand, the rustling of the pages, the smell of the ink . . . things you just don't get with an auto-book. Where an auto-book captures your mind, a physical book captures the other senses as well. They aren't practical for every work; I can only imagine a trade-language dictionary in paper, but for others it can really make a difference.”

“She's got a point, Reyapre,” someone else chimed in. “Besides, auto-books can malfunction or break down. All you need for a physical book is a light source and you're done.”

Adora almost fainted on the spot. Reyapre? Why hadn't she been paying attention—of course it was them! Reyapre were one of the most famous, most influential writers in their generation, crossing species lines and intergalactic distances. They were a conjoined twin with two separate identities sharing one body and people joked that it gave them double the creativity, though not in their hearing. Rumor had it that Reyapre wielded so much power they could destroy anyone's career with a nod or catapult someone into stardom with the same ease. Their dramatic thrillers were made into movies even before the ink was dry and they knew their craft well. Adora was severely outclassed, but it was far too late to back out now. She stood her ground and waited.

Reyapre peered at Adora's badge and said, “Interesting perspective . . . Adora. Certainly something for a serious writer to consider. We ourselves do not have the hand strength to turn pages, but there is something to be said about a multi-sensory experience with one's work. Yes, that could lead to many layers of depth within a story. We shall have to consider it. Fenryss! Fenryss? Oh, where did he go? Oshtin, go find that wandering agent of ours and . . . Fenryss, at last! Talk to this woman about what she's working on and do something nice for her. Speak to her agent as well about what she needs and come up with something. Do enjoy yourself, Adora.”

“Thank you, Reyapre,” Adora barely had a chance to say before the women's agent, a Krynoth male, took her aside. He brought out a tablet computer and, whiskers twitching, said in a bored voice, “Name and genre?”

“My name is Adora, and I write romance novels.”

“Latest work, something within the last five years?”

“I just finished a novel called 'No Time for Tears', but I've been published for the last twenty years, mostly with individual romance novels.”

The Krynoth typed the information in and asked, “Agent?”

Adora told him, “My agent is Geptum Alveret, he's here somewhere.”

“Current projects?”

“I brought an outline for a work titled, 'Love on the Ladris', and I also have notes for another novel in my 'Mail-order-Bride' series.”

“Hmm,” the Krynoth considered. “Reyapre try not to drag out a series too long but do like parallel works, ones where a few characters might know one another, but the stories are basically separate. Would your series fit into that category?”

“I'm not sure . . . it could, I suppose . . . all the characters use the same Mail-order service,” Adora told him.

“That might work as a movie deal. What about research for your other work?”

“I haven't done any as of yet; I'm still in the outline stage.” 

_Is this real?_ she asked herself. _Am I really talking to someone about making my novels into movies? This is amazing! Wait until the Doctor hears . . . and Geptum will die of shock._

The Krynoth told her, “Might not be ready for anything like that yet . . . I'll talk to your agent and see what we can work out. Now, for your current novel. Have you done any off-world events?”

“No, I just got it out on auto-book and home-world paperback,” Adora replied.

“No Entertainment Grid ads?”

Adora's head was spinning. “No; I can't afford that type of advertising cost.”

“You can now,” the Krynoth declared. “So, a possible movie deal with the one series, some as-of-yet undetermined assistance with the one-shot and some Grid ads for the latest, with possible off-world events. I can work with that. You said your agent is here?”

“Yes, possibly even in the room.”

“What does he look like?”

Adora looked around, then pointed. “He's the big gecko lizard over there with the drink in his tail. He's just showing off.”

“He'll have reason to in a moment. Now, let me get some demographics; Reyapre like to keep track of their “projects”, they call it . . . your name is Adora . . . species?”

“I'm a female Gallifreyan, a Time Lady.”

The Krynoth looked at her steadily. “Reyapre are going to love this, launching an almost extinct race into the literature limelight . . . I hope you're good at your craft, Adora. Married?”

“Yes, my husband is here with me.” Adora felt the words leave her mouth before she could censor them. She almost bolted, but kept still. _It's too late now, fool—run and you'll never see a single word of yours in a bookstore again. It's true and it won't make or break me, as long as my husband behaves._

“Good to know. We'll make sure you both get special treatment. Children?”

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ “Two boys, twins. One just got married.”

“Excellent!” the Krynoth told her. “I think I have everything I need from you; I'd better snag your agent before he gets too far; I _hate_ hunting people down. Excuse me.”

He left her, and Adora stood in the middle of the room wondering what she had just done. Not only could her name become synonymous with a genre most people were unfamiliar with, she also might have just sold her anonymity and privacy in one breath. She would have started hyperventilating with the exception that she was a Gallifreyan; any excess or deficiency of oxygen was taken care of automatically unless there was nothing breathable at all for a protracted period of time. Before she could drop down to the floor in shock or start screaming in fear and jubilation, a hand touched her arm. “Love? Is everything all right? You look a bit dazed.”

“I need to leave,” Adora said flatly.

“The scene here, the weekend, or the planet?” 

“Let's start with here.”

The Doctor led Adora to a secluded part of the verandah and asked quietly, “Are you physically well?”

“Yes,” she answered cautiously.

“Did you show yourself for the consummate strategist you are?”

“And got more than Madam President out of it.” She gathered her thoughts, then told the Doctor, “I made a seemingly off-hand comment to the right, or wrong, people at a crucial moment and now I might need to hire bodyguards and live on a space-cruiser to get a moment's peace. I told him everything—my species, partner status, family status—practically everything but my weight! The man was talking about movies, Doctor. Movies—from my novels!”

“Let's not worry about your books for a moment; I want you to focus on yourself. Did you give them an address?”

“No,” Adora's voice wavered.

“Did you mention anything beyond your species and gender, like allergies, dietary requirements, anything that makes you physically vulnerable?”

“No.”

“Did you mention my name or anything about who I am or what I do, anything that could put you in danger that way?”

“I just said I was married, and that my husband was here.”

“Okay, you're safe in that department. Now, tell me who you spoke to and what you said.”

“You saw me go over to that group of people?”

“Yes, one of many.”

“Well, they were discussing the phase-out of physical books for auto-books. I made a comment about physical books being more of an experience and I said it in front of Reyapre, the most famous authors of the age. They liked it, so now I'm their latest “project”. Their agent was talking movies, Entertainment Grid advertising, off-world travel . . . all sorts of stuff I wasn't prepared for.”

The Doctor sighed. “When I said what I said, I didn't think you could go that far. Reyapre? You're certain?”

“I didn't think about it because I wasn't paying attention to how people looked, just their conversation. Next time . . . but wait, how could anything top this?”

The Doctor looked serious. “Don't go there, Adora; that's like asking if anything else could possibly go wrong. Would you like me to get you a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

She watched him weave himself through the crowd, and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Everything was happening so fast, she could barely think. She just stayed there for a minute and then she heard a familiar voice.

“Adora? We've got to talk business and I mean right now!”

Adora opened her eyes and saw Geptum in front of her, tail whipping back and forth behind him. He was clearly agitated which surprised her—shouldn't he be happy? “Business?”

“Business, Adora-doll, like my new pay scale and new cut and new everything. We're in another league now and my salary should reflect that. Also, in my new contract I want—”

“New contract? Now!? We just signed one right before the final revision of 'No Time For Tears'! I don't understand.”

Adora looked around wildly and saw the Doctor coming with her drink. She forced herself to stay calm and wait. He would help her, he always did. 

“Money talks, Adora, and if you're moving up in the world I should, too. Your good fortune should be shared with those who brought it to you—”

“And you think that includes you all of a sudden?” The Doctor asked, handing Adora a glass filled with something that smelled of berries.

“Adora just got favors from _the_ name in the writing business—”

“You said it yourself—'Adora got favors'. You had nothing to do with their procurement; why should you reap the benefits?”

Geptum's tail was wiggling in a frenzy. “This party wouldn't have even taken place without Adora's attendance, which was _certainly_ all my doing! She never would have come if _I_ hadn't—”

The agent stopped, gulped and shut his mouth.

Adora looked where he was looking and saw a man in a three-piece, black 21st century Earth suit and sunglasses glaring at the hapless creature. She was going to break in, but the Doctor held up a hand. “What do you mean, the party wouldn't have happened without her? This posh a place and this type of guest list, all for her? A tiny reptile like you doesn't have that kind of power; who are you working for?”

Geptum turned orange. “I've said too much; far, far more than I should. The contract stays the same . . . I'll talk to you more about what Reyapre's agent and I came up with . . . right now I have to go.”

“Doctor,” Adora hissed, trying to get his attention. The menacing figure behind them was still a factor and she wasn't sure who or what it was after.

“You're not going anywhere,” the Doctor spat, eyes narrowed. “You're going to tell me who you're working for and—”

“Doctor!”

Geptum tried to flee, but the Doctor caught him by the tail and pulled. “What do you want with Adora? Who's paying you?” he roared.

Geptum squirmed, wrenched his tail out of the Doctor's grip and fled, the suited man disappearing a second later. The Doctor would have followed Geptum, but Adora grabbed his arm. “Doctor, you didn't see—there was someone behind you, someone who scared Geptum more than you did.”

“What did he look like?” The Doctor growled, still watching the retreating Geptum.

“Looked human, in a three-piece 21st century Earth suit and sunglasses. As tall as you, but I couldn't tell gender. Doctor, what's going on? Why would someone want me at a function like this, or want to do me special favors? What's happening!?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm going to find out. First though, I'm taking you home; it's not safe for you to be here right now.”

“You can't, Doctor. _I_ can't. If I go now I'll never see another word of my own in print again, I won't be able to share so much as my _recipe cards_ if I walk out of here before the weekend's finished. I can't throw my future away like that. Please, Doctor—I have to stay.”

The Doctor sighed deeply. “Drink your drink,” he told her. “It might be a bit strong.”

Adora sipped, then downed the beverage in a few gulps. “A Berry Blast—splendid! Can I have another?”

The Doctor frowned, but merely said, “Only if you come with me; I don't want you out of my sight until I can get to the bottom of this . . . and you might not want to drink the next one as quickly; you'll get tipsy very fast.”

Adora took his advice; she nursed her next drink for over an hour. They munched on a few canapés as the trays went by and generally kept themselves out of circulation until the Krynoth who had spoken to Adora earlier came up and said, “Adora, I will need copies of your three completed novels to show to some of the film magnates; do you have any with you?”

“I brought everything . . .” Adora pawed through her writing bag and brought out a box of microchips, looking at each one carefully. Finally she said, “I have my whole portfolio here, but is there a way you can get them copied yourself? They're all I have with me and I'm not sure which is which.”

“Not a problem,” the Krynoth told her. “I can return them in an hour. You'll still be here?”

“We're here all weekend,” Adora promised, handing over the chips.

The Doctor watched the Krynoth leave then asked, “Who is he?”

“He's Reyapre's agent; his name's Fennis, or something. Do you think I'll see Geptum again? I need an agent.”

The Doctor looked angry again. “You can do better than his kind, Adora; you need someone who won't sell you out or betray you.”

“We don't know he's done any of that,” Adora said. “All we know is that he claimed my attendance was critical for this party. He may have been exaggerating, he may have been wrong.”

The Doctor shook his head. “And he may have been paid by someone to make sure you came, someone who might mean you harm. I have no way of knowing at this point. My advice is that you find someone more trustworthy, someone who's in it for you as much as they're in it for the money. Maybe it's innocent, maybe it isn't, but you can do better.”

“I don't know,” Adora protested. “I've had Geptum as an agent for over fifteen years and he could have set me up for stardom or failure ages ago if he wanted. Why would he sit around and wait all that time if he meant me harm?”

“Maybe it's not you they're after, Adora. It could be someone using you as a pawn to get to me, to either hurt me or force me into something. There's no way to tell yet. I do wish you would let me take you home.”

“First, they won't let you back in without me and second, I've worked too hard and long to lose everything I have in an instant.”

“All right, Adora, we'll play it your way, but if I find out you're in danger I'm carrying you off whether you agree or not. Do you need another drink?”

“Why aren't you drinking anything?” Adora wanted to know, as they made their way to the bar at the center of the verandah.

“Partially because I need to stay sharp, but mostly because they won't have any bananas until tomorrow night and this regeneration only drinks banana daiquiris.” The Doctor went up to the bar and called, “Another Berry Blast, please.”

The android bartender asked, “Fresh or frozen fruit?”

“Fresh,” the Doctor replied, “definitely fresh.”

They watched as the robot made Adora's drink, then went over to the side of the room where the appetizers were coming out straight from the kitchen and had supper. “Do you know what the little crisps are on top of the green ones?” The Doctor asked, biting into a tasty morsel.

“Which green ones, the hot ones, smoky ones, or the creamy ones?” Adora wanted to know. “I suppose it doesn't matter any more; I'm full.” She was quiet for a minute, then mused, “In a few years this might be _my_ house, and _my_ party.” She shuddered. “Will you make me a promise?”

“I want to hear what you want first.”

“If the unbelievable does happen and someday I'm the one calling the shots and throwing wild parties and having people as my pet projects, do you promise you'll give me a good slap in the face and return me to my senses?” 

The Doctor laughed. “You'll never be like them, Adora. I might have had fears for you at one time, but not now. You've learned that people are more than pawns or players or “projects”. You wouldn't string people up just to watch them blow in the breeze or tantalize them with treats they couldn't possess. You're not vain nor selfish, and power isn't the ruling fire behind your eyes any more. You won't be like them, never fear.”

As Adora sipped on her drink, Reyapre's agent returned with her microchips. “I made copies of everything in your portfolio including the outlines and notes, though they will, of course, be destroyed once the works are publishable. I will need to get your house communicator code to reach you, unless you want everything to go through your agent.”

Adora passed over a paper with her house communicator code and told him, “For now, I'd prefer you to work with me directly, though that is subject to change. Would you be able to give me Reyapre's contact information, just enough to send her, no, _them_ a thank-you card?”

“I can have that information delivered to your home once the party's over; they'll appreciate it more if you wait a day or two to let it all sink in for all of you.”

“And your name?” Adora asked.

“Fenryss, Madam.”

“I want to thank you as well; you're doing so much of the work. Thank you ever so much.”

“You might not want to thank me yet, Madam; you have no idea how much your life will change after this weekend.” He gave a quick nod to the Doctor, then slipped back into the crowd.

“You know,” the Doctor commented drily, “He may be right.


	5. Chapter 5

5—Knights in Rusted Armor 

“Who is this Val Maxdon?” the Doctor asked Adora the next morning as they got ready to leave their room. “Supposedly it's her home and party, but no one ever mentions her. Why not?”

Adora explained, “Val Maxdon is a pseudonym for a trio of mystery writers, or that's what everyone says. The work is good and the characters surprising, but no one's ever seen Val Maxdon in the flesh as far as I know. Unlike Reyapre, Val Maxdon has put money and energy into protecting her, or their, privacy.”

“Any reason why someone or someones like that would do all this to have you for a weekend?” the Doctor inquired.

“No reason at all. If someone wanted me all they would need to do is set up a book-signing at the Page-Turner and I'd show up; I've meant to do one there for a while now. No extravagant party needed, no big-name guests, no nothing.” Adora shook her head. “Someone's spending a lot of money, time and effort for all this, all when it isn't needed.”

“That's what's worrying me,” the Doctor admitted.

He opened the door and froze. Right outside their door was a man in a 21st century three-piece Earth suit. His eyes were hidden by sunglasses and he had a piece of paper in his hand. He held out the paper and said in a stiff, bored tone, “For the Doctor.” He dropped the piece of paper into the Doctor's outstretched hand, then instantly vanished.

The Doctor began waving his sonic screwdriver around trying to get readings on their mysterious guest. “Local transmat, nothing long-range; probably someone right here on the grounds. No sign of any alien residue or pheromones; might have actually been a human.”

“And the note?” Adora asked.

The Doctor opened the note and read it aloud. _'You and Adora are in no danger, Doc. Stop worrying and have some fun.'_

“It doesn't say who it was from?” Adora questioned.

The Doctor re-read the note, then put it in his coat pocket. “It didn't need to. Only one person in the Universe calls me 'Doc', but it still doesn't explain the massive expense or scope of this venture. I'm still confused but I'm not worried, not as much, anyway.”

“Who was it from?”

The Doctor smiled fondly. “It was from one of my best friends; Jack Harkness. You met him, he was the one who went with you when the Valeyard tried to kidnap you.”

Adora tried to remember. “Was he the one who died? The one the Valeyard killed then tied up and he came back to life?”

“That's him,” the Doctor said cheerfully. “He said you got a little feisty.”

Adora blushed, remembering the conversation. “He was . . . he had just been killed and was tied up by a megalomaniac and he was _flirting_ with me!”

The Doctor shook his head, grinning. “Of course! I'd have been a lot more worried if he hadn't been flirting, believe me. When Jack stops flirting, it's deadly serious.” 

“But I'm your wife. Doesn't that put me off-limits?”

“For Jack nothing sentient is 'off-limits'. You name it, he'll flirt with it, probably even try to sleep with it if it's willing and of age. He has a much broader concept of sex than any individual or race I have met, or ever will meet.”

Adora asked, “If it is this friend of yours behind all this, what's he doing? Why is he going to all this trouble and expense over one simple weekend? Couldn't he just rent us a condominium for a few days, or get us tickets on a pleasure cruise? And why an author's weekend?”

“I can't answer any of your questions, but if it is Jack we have no reason to be afraid. If it's someone pretending to be Jack, that's another story. I'll have to continue to investigate, but I can be a bit less frantic about it.”

“Does this Jack flirt with you as well?” Adora wondered.

“Probably once every three minutes at least.”

“And . . . and the sex?”

The Doctor's smile dimmed. “No,” he said quietly, “not Jack.”

“Why not?”

“He . . . he's a fixed point in time. A girl I was traveling with brought him back to life after he was shot by a Dalek; now he dies but it never sticks and he's a fixed point . . . he's wrong.”

Adora sighed. “And you told him that, didn't you? No wonder he won't sleep with you; I wouldn't either.”

“Oh, no, he forgave me, he did. And then Koschei turned up and tortured him for a solid year because of me and he forgave that—”

Adora was clearly upset. “And you still told him 'no'!? It would mean so much to him. Couldn't you find it in your hearts—”

The Doctor replied in a lofty, arrogant tone, “I won't. He already loves and idolizes me and if I sleep with him it will make it worse. Though I deserve the attention, I—”

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Doctor,” Adora told him. “You are not the Universe's gift in terms of a 'catch', and if you're only holding back because you want him to continue his hero-worship from afar, you're being cruel. Go away!”

The Doctor gave Adora one pleading look before she slammed the door in his face. 

She waited until she heard his retreating footsteps, then sat down on the bed, still fuming. She had never hated anyone so much in that moment as she hated the Doctor. He was an arrogant, uncaring, pompous old Skul-squid, and if she ever met his friend Jack again _she_ would sleep with him if only to make the Doctor uncomfortable and give Jack a taste of what Gallifreyan sex was like. Rassilon knew he deserved it, if anyone did. She wondered if there was a way she could contact this Jack and let him know it wasn't him, that he had just had the bad luck to carry a torch for the Universe's biggest prat, but thought better of it. If this was the poor man's reason for being so kind to her his pains were still wasted and nothing she said could change it.

Adora went to her suitcase and got out a swimsuit. She decided she would clear her mind with a few laps in the pool and forgo breakfast for the moment. She had seen it as they came in, a monstrous pool with a waterfall at one end and little grottoes and hideaways. It would be a real shame not to take advantage of it. She changed, closed the door and went to the end of the hall, then thought better of it and went back to the room. She looked at the door, specifically at the retinal eye-scan “lock”. There was a green button next to it. She pressed the button, and instantly a mechanical voice answered, “Yes?” 

“I want to get to the pool, but I'm lost,” she spoke into the microphone.

“One moment—guidance is on the way.”

In an instant there was a yellow shimmering and a robot butler appeared. “State your need, sir-or-madam.”

“I'm trying to get to the pool,” Adora replied.

“Do you prefer transmat or physical leading?”

Adora responded, “Physical; I want to be able to get there again on my own.”

“Please follow.”

Adora followed the machine, paying close attention to the turns and corridors so she didn't need to ask for help the next time. The machine led her through the grounds and stopped at the large, shallow end of the pool. 

“This is the pool. Do you need more assistance?”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

Adora put her towel on a chaise lounge next to the pool, then stripped off her swimsuit cover and stepped into the water. The water was pleasantly cool and she went in deeper, looking for the waterfall she had seen earlier. Locating her target took some time, though she did find several couples or threesomes making out or more in some of the “hidden" grottoes. She finally found what she thought was the right waterfall, but she was wrong; it wasn't big enough, there was a poolside table and chairs, and there was a private alcove above it. There were life forms at the table. Adora was about to swim away when one creature reached in and pulled her right out of the water. 

The creature was a muddy-brown octopus with a bottle in one tentacle and a glazed look in its eyes. On the other side of the table a clam-like being with arms and legs sat drinking some sort of beverage out of a coconut. Bottles and coconuts lay scattered everywhere and there was the unmistakable reek of alcohol. 

“Well, lookee here, Horqua—caught us our own mermaid!” the octopus chuckled. “It's kinda puny, but it'd be a shame to throw it back. Now let me see . . . you scale a fish, then you fillet it, then munch it down, right Horqua?” 

The clam didn't look up from its drink. “That's for regular fish, Pleh, not a mermaid. You don't fillet a mermaid.”

Adora tried to get back into the water, but Pleh had too firm of a grip. “Let me go!” she hissed. “I'm obviously in the wrong place, so—”

“Oh, no, sweetie, I think you're in _exactly_ the right place, don't you, Horqua? Morning's been a bit slow, nothing to do but drink until you swam by. You'll be a tasty treat, won't you? Want some, Horqua?”

“Pass me another drink, Pleh; it's too early in the morning for anything energetic like that. If you want a little action that's your business; I am working on getting myself properly sloshed before breakfast. Pleh! Put it down and pass me a drink!”

“Help me, please!” Adora begged. “He's your friend . . . make him stop!”

Horqua opened its shell a little bit more, enough to show a set of eyes on stalks and a pink tongue. It looked like it was going to say something else; instead it fell over and closed its shell.

“Just you and me, sweetie. If I'm right, you shuck a clam before you eat it,” Pleh started trying to get Adora's swimsuit off. 

Adora fought back but she didn't have a chance. She screamed. 

*****  
The Doctor watched as Adora slammed the door in his face. He would have protested, but he just slowly walked away. He knew he had treated Jack poorly in the past, but it had been a very long time since someone reminded himself of the fact and he felt annoyed that someone would challenge him, but also bad for his treatment of his friend. He decided he would wait and let Adora calm down before he came back; his relationship with Jack was not her concern but her anger toward him personally would have to be addressed.

He wandered through the halls, exploring the estate. He was just passing an enormous suite with many muffled voices of various types of creatures, when the door opened and Adora's agent came swaggering out. The reptile was just saying, “I'll come back later everyone; don't look for me until . . .” He closed the door, saw the Doctor standing there and started running in the opposite direction.

The Doctor immediately started after him. He was pretty speedy, but the lizard in front of him was _fast_ and the Doctor could barely keep up. The went down and around past two restaurants, through a croquet court and a maze of passages, until finally the Doctor cornered him in a small alcove. Down below was a waterfall and a deep pool of water, with two creatures sitting at a table drinking like there was no tomorrow. The lizard looked like it was going to jump, but the Doctor managed to grab hold of a leg and pull it back. 

“Not this time, you!” the Doctor growled.

The reptile squirmed, but the Doctor had a good grip. “What do you want me for?” he whined. “I told you already, the contract can stay the way it was!”

“I have no interest in your business dealings with Adora. I want to know where Jack is.”

The gecko looked at him wildly, utterly confused. “What Jack? I don't know a Jack! He's not one of mine; you've got me confused with someone else!”

The Doctor was getting annoyed. “The man who hired you to get Adora to go to the party, the one who set all this up, your boss . . . _that_ Jack.”

“He's not a Jack and he's not my boss! He's just some weird-looking alien who told me to arrange for Adora to come to this party; he paid me a bunch in advance and then set a fee for each day she stays, that's all! I'm not trying to sell her out or anything . . . I thought it was someone who admired her work and wanted to meet her.”

“What was his name? Not Jack, you're sure?”

“Not Jack, I swear! Bow-Face, or something.”

The Doctor's eyes lit up. “The Face of Boe? What does he look like?”

“He's a huge head with tentacles in a jar. Doesn't want to be seen.”

The Doctor let go of the lizard's leg. “Well, at least you're right in that respect.”

The reptile eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want? I swear I don't know anything else and I wouldn't hurt Adora; she's a great client. She's not pushy, she's not a diva, never asks for the impossible like a set-up with some big name . . .”

“Like Reyapre?” the Doctor asked, glaring at Geptum. 

Geptum looked shocked. “I didn't do that, just like you pointed out yesterday; that wasn't part of the plan! My whole objective was to get Adora-doll here and make sure she had a nice weekend. He first author's weekend was a complete disaster; I had to leave just after she got here for personal reasons and she was attacked by sharks the whole time. The second time she went I was there, but they made some lousy room assignments and she went home early. It's my job to see that nothing like that happens this time.”

“Get me in to see the Face of Boe,” the Doctor directed.

“I can't! You're not supposed to know about him; no one is!”

The Doctor looked at him sternly. “What if something were to happen, like Adora decided she wanted to leave?”

Geptum shook his head. “Wouldn't matter. I'd try and talk her out of it and if I couldn't the Man in Black would come and it would be over. He'd transmat me to wherever the Face of Boe is, which might or might not be on the grounds, I'd get paid and then I'd get kicked out.”

“'Kicked out'? You're a legitimate agent; why couldn't you stay?” the Doctor asked.

“I would be allowed to stay I guess; I could hang out with my Antillan buddies, but . . . Adora's my only client; has been for the last four years. After working with her I found I couldn't stomach the crap other writers put me through. But _please_ don't tell her; it might disrupt the balance and I don't want to do that.”

The Doctor was going to say something else, but just then they heard a scream. Geptum immediately straightened, cocking his head. “It's Adora-doll! Where is she?”

They heard the scream again. Geptum looked over the edge and cried out, “She's down there, by the pool! Something's got her; we'll have to jump!”

Before the Doctor could move Geptum had already gone over the wall. The Doctor waited until Geptum was clear, then jumped in himself.

*****  
Adora kept screaming as the large octopus tried to get her swimsuit off. She dimly heard a splash, then a familiar voice called out, “Hands off, you moldering squid—the lady said no!”

“Get your own mermaid, lizard,” the octopus spat back, “This one's in use.”

“I can, do and will bite,” Geptum warned, jumping lightly out of the pool. “You're slobbering drunk anyway, pal; you won't get a thing out of it.”

Just then there was a larger splash, and the Doctor was in the pool. “Un-tentacle my wife right now, or you will regret it,” he said menacingly.

“This was supposed to be a private party,” the octopus huffed. It stopped struggling with Adora, but kept one tentacle wrapped around her wrist as the Doctor hauled himself out and stepped toward Adora while Geptum flanked it on the other side. “I caught this mermaid, I'm keeping it,” it said stubbornly. “We're only having some fun.”

“Someone isn't having much fun at all,” the Doctor said, a dangerous look in his eyes. “In fact, if I'm right someone isn't having _any_ fun. Let her go.”

“Won't,” the octopus shook its head.

The Doctor said in a terrible voice, “I am the _Ka Faraq Gatri_ , and I order you to let her go! If you do not I will bring down the wrath of ages on your head and you'll _beg_ to die!” 

The octopus dropped Adora like she was a bolt of lightning and pressed itself hard into the concrete, gibbering. Geptum grabbed Adora by the hand and led her away from the scene. The Doctor said quietly, “This is what you will do. You will pack up your things, leave by the most convenient exit and drive yourself to the nearest police station, where you will admit to second degree harassment. You will never come to one of these events again and you will spend the rest of your miserable life thanking every god you can think of that I let you go. Is that understood?”

The octopus was still pushed into the concrete, wailing, its tentacles writhing. The Doctor gave it one more glare, then stepped over it, following Geptum and Adora. A security robot came tramping in, but let the Doctor through when the octopus started bawling, “Me, me! It was me!” 

The Doctor went over to where Adora was crying into Geptum's shoulder. “I want to get out of here!” she sobbed.

“Where's your towel, Adora-doll?” Geptum asked.

“It . . . it's by the front edge of the swimming pool. I don't want it, though, I want to go!”

“I'll run and get it,” Geptum said, hurrying away. 

The Doctor waited while Geptum got Adora's things, then they both walked her up to the room Adora and the Doctor were sharing. The Doctor had Adora go in first and change while he and Geptum waited outside. Geptum sighed, “Well, that's just too bad. I'm out twenty thousand credits, Adora will never agree to come to one of these events again and you'll miss out on a fabulous party. Losers all around.”

“We don't all have to lose,” the Doctor pointed out. “Get me in to see the Face of Boe.”

Geptum looked at the Doctor suspiciously. “What does 'Ka Faraq Gatri' mean, anyway?” 

“Let me in to see him and I'll tell you,” the Doctor promised. 

“I don't need to know that badly,” Geptum said flatly.

“Are you more afraid of him than you are of me?”

Geptum wouldn't look at him. “I'm not sure yet and I hope I don't have to find out. You and the Bow-Face guy are _way_ out of my league . . . and my comfort zone.”

“His name is the Face of Boe and you're my only way to get to him. I'm an old friend and I just want to know why he's being so nice to Adora.”

“If I were you, I'd leave the why alone and just be grateful,” Geptum advised. 

Just then, the figure in the black suit appeared. Geptum sighed again and stepped forward. “Adora's going home and I'm not about to stop her, poor thing. Take me to your boss.”

The figure nodded, and tossed something on the floor. Before Geptum could get to it, the Doctor jumped forward and landed on it with both feet. There was a scattering of color, and the Doctor found himself standing in front of the Face of Boe. 

The Face looked at him, blinked, then said slowly, “I was not expecting you, but I should have known you would find a way to come to me. Your Adora is safe?”

“Safe, yes. She's packing up as we speak.”

“It is a shame; I was hoping . . . but it is irrelevant now. The objective has been met. On the table there is an envelope for Adora's agent; please deliver it.”

“Wait!” the Doctor called. “What's going on? What are you trying to achieve?”

The Face shook its head. “You will come to know in time, perhaps. You are not the only one with fixed points to arrange.”

“Fixed points!? What—”

“Good-bye, Doctor. May we meet once more . . .” 

The Doctor tried to ask another question, but the Face disappeared.

Just as the Doctor picked up the envelope for Geptum, the man in the black suit appeared. He threw down a transmat pad and said, “Please return yourself. This is not where you belong.”

The Doctor would have argued, but there was no point. He stepped on the transmat square and returned to the space in front of his room with Adora. Geptum was still standing there, but looked surprised when the Doctor appeared. 

“Did you get the answers you wanted?” the lizard asked.

The Doctor shook his head and handed the envelope to Geptum. The lizard took it, opened it, and started whooping in delight. “Seventy-five thousand credits—I just got seventy-five thousand credits! Wait until everyone sees this!” He turned to the Doctor and said rapidly, “Tell Adora I'll call her house communicator Onesday to see how she is and to tell her what Reyapre's agent and I set up; I'll say she had a personal emergency and get her off the hook. Get her home safe, Doctor.” He dashed down the hall, still squealing.

Adora opened the door and questioned, “Doctor? Was that Geptum I heard? Sounded like he was excited about something.”

“Nothing to concern you, Love. Now, can I come in? I'm still dripping a little.”

Adora pulled him in hurriedly. “I forgot; I'm sorry. Come get dried off and dressed. I didn't even think . . .”

“It's all right, Adora; I'm fine, just soggy.”

Adora sighed. “I'm going to lose everything, but I can't stay, I just can't, I'm . . .” She burst into tears.

“Geptum's going to cover for you, Love; don't worry about your career.” He stroked her hair and said gently, “Let's get you home. I still have to finish your security system, which you'll _definitely_ need now.”

“That's right, my privacy, and the help from Reyapre! I wonder what they have in mind?”

“We're not going to find out now; we're going home.” The Doctor was drying off and trying to wring out his trainers. He gave it up and reached for some dry clothes. “Get your things together and order a ground transport, Love. We're leaving.”


	6. Chapter 6

6—The Prize

Adora and the Doctor were sitting on the porch swing when they heard the house communicator sound. Adora went in to answer it while the Doctor stayed outside and enjoyed the fresh air. He and Adora had spent the rest of the weekend quietly with him working on the home security system and her planning out her novel. They ate together, talked together, and made love on the porch during the thunderstorms. It was all domestic and cozy and couple-like but the Doctor refused to get used to it. Thalmidor would be back in a few more days and Adora would tell him it was time to go. 

The security system was nearly complete; all he had to do was connect it to the local emergency system and hook it up to its own private, self-sustaining, reliable power source. He had the perfect thing waiting on the TARDIS in some back room hooked up to a popcorn machine system, complete with the hydroponics set-up to grow the corn and a mini dairy for the liquid butter. He wasn't sure why he was still growing his own popcorn, but he could do without and it would work well for Adora's needs. He made a mental note then sat back and let the cool breeze blow through his hair, letting his mind float free.

Adora came back out and sat next to him. 

“That was Geptum checking in. He said there are arrangements being made so I can go on the ultra-high-class star-liner 'Princess of the Universe' as research for my story, 'Love on the Ladris'. It's a three-week vacation with stops to Ganarobii, Marissis, Zald, Najawertenfarr and three planets in the Veldu Circle. I'll take a speed shuttle from here to the Hyper-Line transport hub the night before and catch the space liner first thing in the morning. I'll have an almost unlimited line of credit for day excursions and various necessities while on-board; it's pretty much all-inclusive, but services like the spa and beauty salon are extra. I'll have my own suite and I'll have access to some of the crew-only areas as part of the research. I'll have to go to get a complete new wardrobe for the trip; everyone says I'm not posh enough with what I have now, except the dress you fixed. It's all right for one formal night but I'll need at least six more. Can you imagine? Seven formal dresses, all for one vacation? They're paying for that as well; Reyapre that is—they have a shopping consultant coming next month to get the clothes I'll need for the trip, and if necessary there's a dress designer on standby for the formal wear. I can hardly believe it! You'll come, won't you?”

The Doctor looked Adora straight in the eyes and said gently, “No Adora, I won't. I have no place in a world like that. You keep telling me I would die a slow death if I stayed here with you; it would be worse on a posh star-liner with everyone worrying about getting the best seat for the evening entertainment or if they look curvy enough in their dress or if the Pomdon sauce has enough caviar in it. I'd last a whole ten minutes. I'd move planets for you, Adora, but I can't go on a trip like that.”

Adora took his hands and said, “I understand, Doctor, I do. It's not a favorite atmosphere for me, but it's one I was born and raised in, as you well know. The political scene on Gallifrey was very much like a high-class party, everyone only knowing and accepting the best, and ready to snap at anyone stepping out of line. I'm sure you remember . . . all too well, probably.”

The Doctor grimaced. “Far too clearly and far too well, my dear. I wish I could help you. What about Geptum?”

Adora shook her head. “That would be awkward for both of us. Do you think I could persuade Thalmidor?”

“You're welcome to ask him; I'm not sure what he'll say, though.”

“No, Thalmidor would be just as awkward as Geptum, in his own way. I wish I had a good, female friend to take.”

“When's the big event?”

Adora said, “In a few months.”

“Hire a companion,” the Doctor suggested. “Other travelers do.”

Adora looked at him scathingly. “The day I _pay_ someone to be my friend—”

The Doctor took a step back. “It was just an idea, that's all . . . just a suggestion.”

Adora lifted her chin. “No. I'll go alone, and I'll have a good time. I might even make friends while I'm there. I will, however ask Thalmidor to house-sit. You wouldn't mind?”

“Not at all, Love. In fact, we can both watch your house together.”

“Only if you promise not to ever, ever go in the kitchen alone.”

“I wasn't _that_ bad!” the Doctor protested. 

Adora reminded him, “You tore open your palm, you almost poisoned yourself with the nut butter and crackers and then you got yourself stoned on the Delbital. You are _not_ going in my kitchen alone!” 

The Doctor mumbled something. 

Adora said sharply, “What was that?”

“Thalmidor wouldn't let me anyway,” the Doctor repeated, embarrassed.

Adora patted the Doctor's knee. “Look at it this way—you wouldn't let me go into your TARDIS engine room with a penlight and snipping pliers, would you?”

“Of course not!” the Doctor objected, sounding alarmed. “You have no business near any of her systems with tools, not for _any_ reason—” 

“Just like you shouldn't be in a kitchen with tools,” Adora finished for him. “Not without someone there to help.”

“It sounds better when you say it like that.”

“And don't go rooting around in my garden, either!”

The Doctor raised his hands in surrender. “I promise your house will still be standing if Thalmidor and I watch it while you're gone, all right?”

“It had better be!” Adora insisted. She stopped talking, listened for a minute, then said, “There's another thunderstorm heading our way . . . in the mood?”

“I'll grab the inflatable mattress,” the Doctor told her, hurrying inside.

*****  
Adora and the Doctor were just gathering the day's harvest of black carrots when they heard the familiar racket of the Doctor's TARDIS landing. It sounded rougher than usual; the Doctor cocked his head and said, “There, you hear that? That's the magnetron acceleration unit trying its best; good thing we've got a new one.”

“I just hope Thalmidor doesn't land back here on something in bloom . . .” Adora worried.

“I'm sure he'll materialize on the other side.”

When they got to the front of the house Thalmidor was standing in the TARDIS doorway with a good-sized trophy in his hands. 

“Second Place!” he announced, jubilant. “I would have won it all but Judge Fifteen said my Amprezed muffins were a shade too pink. Still, I was _very_ close!”

“That's wonderful, son!” Adora cheered. “What did you win?”

“I got the trophy, bragging rights and an Alphazod year's worth of hard supplies—pans, appliances, anything non-food. And you'd better believe I'm going to win next year!”

“Brilliant, Thalmidor, just brilliant!” the Doctor told him, shaking his hand warmly. “Always knew you would do the family proud. Now go put that on the dining room table and hear the favor your mother wants to ask!” 

***** Sequel to follow: Bitter Fruit *****


End file.
